In imitation of Wodehouse IX

Continued from a previous chapter 

Elizabeth marched forward with a warm smile and shook my hand as I hastened to my feet.

‘Hello Berrty!’ she said as if I was an old friend.

‘Oh! Hullo Miss Conner.’ I replied, somewhat nonplussed, as we sat down on the sofa together. She really was dashed pretty, but it was the fact that psychologically I wasn’t prepared to deal with her till tomorrow evening which threw me off my kilter.

‘Call me Elizabeth, please. Or Beth if you want. That’s what my friends at home call me. Sorry to come back so suddenly, but I need an alibi.’ She leaned in conspiratorially.

‘Alibi?’ I blinked. A horrible feeling descended on me as another beautiful young woman approaches me for crime-related purposes.

‘Oh, and thanks so much for asking Jeeves to bail us out of jail! I’ll return the money as soon as I get home. You see, I spent all of my money shopping, I even borrowed some from Tuppy.’

‘That’s quite alright Beth! It’s on me. Least I can do. I’m sorry you had Tuppy as a guide. It’s his fault that you were ever in that situation.’

‘He’s alright, really! He took me to a lot of nice places, and helped me with all of my bags. I insisted on driving home because I hadn’t driven for weeks and back home I drove everywhere. I told your Aunt how much I missed driving on the cruise. She’s such a great lady.’

It takes a heart of a saint to defend Tuppy, the fattest of fatheads, after all the fiasco, and to praise Aunt Agatha, who could be Lucifer’s own Aunt, in the same breathe. I looked at Elizabeth with a kindly eye.

‘You see, I wasn’t home for two nights, and though I left a message from the police station with my dad’s secretary to say that I’m staying at a friend’s, dad’ll be wanting details. And he knows I don’t really have friends here because I’ve never been to England and don’t know anyone here. So I thought I’d say I was staying with cousin Cyril and George. But I don’t even know where they live. And I’m not in the mood to go see Cousin George yet. He probably won’t help me anyway.’ She looked downcast, thinking of George, the Judas.

‘I do apologise on George’s behalf. He’s always been a bit of an intransigent stick. I can assure you that Cyril was devastated at the news. Absolutely besides himself; came to me for council at once when he heard what his idiot brother did.’

We Woosters all have a soft spot for beauty in distress. I looked upon that unhappy face and my heart bled. That her first experience of jolly old London was neither enjoying high tea nor frolicking with friendly squirrels in Kensington Gardens, but instead being entrapped in the company of Tuppy and being the prisoner of the cold steel of unyielding justice at the hands of her own flesh and blood was like a Dickensian tragedy.

Throughout our conversation, Jeeves was setting down fresh tea and sandwiches for the two of us. He cleared his throat politely in that way he has, which he was apt to use to get my attention when there is company present.

‘If I may make a suggestion, sir, why don’t we say that Miss Conner is staying at Mrs Travers’s estate? It might strike Mister Conner strange for Miss Conner to be staying with two distant male relatives who are bachelors, and who live in a rather modest house. However, as Mister Conner knows Mrs Gregson from the cruise, it would be most reasonable for Mister Conner to imagine that Mrs Gregson would introduce Miss Conner to her sister, Mrs Travers, and for Miss Conner to befriend her niece Miss Angela Travers and be invited to stay at an English Estate.’

‘That’s a great idea Jeeves!’ I turned to Beth, ‘My Aunt Dahlia has a grand place called Brinkley Court near Market Snodsbury. Her daughter, my cousin Angela, is about your age. That will make much more sense than for you to be staying with the Fotheringay-Phippses in their lair.’

‘But I don’t know her, Berrty.’ Beth looked at me half filled with hope but half with trepidation.

‘Leave that to me! I’ll get everyone on the same page. My cousin Angela and Aunt Dahlia are very game women, they’d never leave a fellow female in need.’

‘It might be good, sir, to ask Miss Angela and Mrs Travers if Miss Conner can stay the weekend at Brinkley Court. That way the, eh, pretence will be less acute. After the weekend, Miss Conner will be well acquainted with Miss Angela and Mrs Travers, as well as Brinkely Court.’

‘That’s a great idea Jeeves!’ I repeated. ‘Aunt Dhalia is having a bunch of people over on the weekend anyway. It’s Uncle Tom’s birthday you see. And this way, if your father asks for details, you will be able to bring them up at once!’

‘The only possible weakness in the arrangement is for the next two nights. If I may ask, Miss Conner, does Mister Conner know about your dinner arrangement with Mister Wooster and Mrs Gregson tomorrow? Is he expecting you for anything before Friday?’

‘He knows about tomorrow’s dinner with Berrty and Mrs Gregson. She invited him too, but he’s busy.’ I shied at the idea of having dinner with Aunt Agatha and Mister Conner the American textile tycoon, and my heart soared at having dodged that bullet.

‘Dad’s not expecting me for anything for a while. You see he has a very full schedule. I’ve barely seen him since we got here. I think he’s happy not to have to entertain me to be honest. So as long as I tell him or John—that’s his secretary—where I’ll be, and that I’m with people, he’s alright. That’s why I was with Tuppy, because they were talking business when I went into dad’s office, being bored out of my wits. Dad was grateful when Tuppy volunteered to show me around London.’

‘Excellent! Tell you what – let’s go find Angela for lunch, we can fill her in on the plan. I’ll invite her to dinner tomorrow as well, that way Aunt Agatha will be another witness to your friendship.’

‘That sounds great Berrty! Thank you so much! Can we swing by my hotel so I can pick up a few things?’

Jeeves ran a bath for poor Beth, who hadn’t had a decent wash since Sunday. She didn’t want to linger at the hotel longer than she needed, in case her father was around. We decided that she should check into another hotel for the next two nights. While we waited, Jeeves said, ‘Sir, you might also take the occasion to clear up the misunderstanding with Miss Angela about Mr Glossop being seen in the company of Miss Conner.’

‘Yes!’ I smacked my forehead, ‘For a moment I forgot about that! Excellent, this lunch will be like two birds with one stone.’ The two girls, being together, will offer me the perfect chance to dispel Angela’s misunderstanding.

With the plan set, I gave Angela’s hotel a ring. With luck, Angela had just returned. I outlined with a few laconic sentences the problem at hand about the unfortunate Beth. I wisely left out the bit about Tuppy, just to ensure that she will not have formed any erroneous opinion of Beth before they met. Angela was tickled quite pink at the prospect about hosting the American damsel in distress.

‘You playing knight in shining armour again Berty? It’s so like you.’ I could tell from her voice that she was teasing, but she obviously liked the idea.

‘Of course she is welcome to spend the weekend at Brinkley. I’ll let mother know straight away. Let’s go to that pie shop you took me once, the one near Covent Garden Market. I’ll bet Beth has never had a Bedfordshire clanger or a homity pie.’ 

So when Beth was cleaned and preened to her satisfaction, and to my delight, we set off into London. The early afternoon was warm and clear and we had a jolly stroll through some English gardens, traipsed by some old churches, wended through some winding laneways, and arrived at the pie shop.

It was an old establishment of the Tudor type, with white walls and brown timber struts, and its ancient edifice sagging with age. Beth said it looked like a fairy tale house. How easily impressed our American cousins are!

Angela, who was waiting for us outside, waved when she saw me, her reddish blonde hair like a big beacon in the sunlight.

‘Hello! You must be Elizabeth.’ She extended a friendly hand. Beth ignored it and went for the American embrace.

‘Angela! Thank you ever so much for letting me stay at your home!’

The ice thusly broken, the three of us, with the girls arm in arm, went inside for pastries.

The sight of two lovely girls drew the attentive gazes of many patrons, and I felt that slightly idiotic pride in being the male escort of beauty. Beth was astounded at the array of different pies on offer.

As she was examining the pies closely, like a child at a toy shop, Angela grasped my arm and whispered, ‘What a sweet girl! You couldn’t tell she is related to Barmy and George could you.’ I assented eagerly.

Beth turned to us in surprise, ‘I didn’t realise that ‘humble pie’ is a real pie! I thought it was just a saying.’

‘You don’t want that Beth.’ Angela firmly quashed that idea. She was being very protective of Beth, who did possess a naiveté that brought out the inner knight.

‘What about a nice Melton Mowbray pie?’

‘What’s a meltin mob ray? A kind of fish?’

‘It’s a pork pie from a town called Melton Mowbray.’

‘It’s a lovely pie miss!’ the large portly man on the other side of the counter chipped in, himself a good advertisement for the pies sold in his shop. His cheeks are glowing, there’s a smile on his face, his voice deep and booming and his beard thick and shiny. He might have led Cromwell’s army back in the days. ‘Best fresh pork, herbs and spices, a bit o’anchovy for some kick, and fresh pork-bone broth jelly fed into the pie as it cooks.’ He smacked his lips while reminiscing about the delicious pastry. After his down-to-earth description, I wanted one.

‘That sounds very nice! I’ll have that one.’ Beth was moved too by the man’s salesmanship.

‘Right you are love! And what about you two then?’

Angela and I settled for a Shepard’s pie and a steak pie. We also got a couple of scotch eggs, which we thought might tickle Beth’s fancy.

Lunch went off swimmingly. The three of us enjoyed the mighty fine food of (as we found out) the aptly named Mr Relish. Beth was full of curiosity about the hole on top of her pie and was delighted by the ingenuity of the Scotch egg. The girls bonded like sisters, and sounded like two happy canaries. Angela gave Beth a virtual tour of her home, Brinkley Court, describing its architecture, its manicured lawns, the woods behind the mansion with the occasional deer and rabbit, and Chef Anatole’s peerless prowess in the kitchen. All of which made Beth’s eyes open wide like a child being read a fairy tale. The glamour of an English estate clearly still having the spell of fascination on our American cousins.

‘Mum will love you!’ Angela announced, reassuring Beth at the prospect of going to a family weekend uninvited.

‘Aunt Dahlia is an awfully good egg!’ I added my penny’s worth.

‘Yes, she must be! Her sister, your Aunt Agatha, is such a nice woman.’

Angela and I shared a quick look. We mutually decided not to disabuse her of this notion. The world is probably a better place when there is one more person who thought kindly thoughts about Aunt Agatha.

I thought this was the perfect opportunity to bring up the subject of Tuppy. While the girls are in such a pally mood, I can clear up with Angela her misunderstanding with Tuppy, and Beth can be the important material witness, assuring Angela that Tuppy’s involvement with Beth was only as an (and a terrible one at that) escort.

I thought I’d go into it obliquely. I started by telling Angela about Beth’s episode with the British Law in the form of George. Angela was enthralled with my tale. And when I gave her the kicker – that George is Beth’s own cousin, I did enjoy Angela’s facial expression, where surprise and outrage jostled for supremacy, and she almost took off from her chair. If it doesn’t count as boasting, I always thought I had a knack for crafting a tale.

‘That silly George!’ Angela fumed, stabbing the remaining Scotch egg, ‘you should give him a piece of your mind Berty!’

‘It’s ok, Angela, really.’ Beth consoled her, ‘I did almost hit that little kid on the bicycle. Although he gave me a smile and a thumbs up.’

‘Well, at least Barmy is not like George, you’ll like Barmy. He is as sweet as a puppy.’

‘And there is yet another twist to the tale, Angela,’ I readied myself, ‘You know how your girlfriend saw a blonde gallivanting with Tuppy in town the other day? That’s none other than Beth!’

Angela’s face froze for a microsecond. I could see her brain furiously processing this new bit of information from every angle. She lifted her eyes to me and then to Beth, and then back to me again. I couldn’t read her expression but I could feel the smile on my lips congealing somewhat.

‘Do you know Tuppy too? He is such a sweetheart!’ Beth chimed in enthusiastically before I could muster the next sentence.

‘Is he?’ Angela said. She was like the sphinx. There was no emotion there. It was quite discombobulating.

‘He is my first friend in London. He showed me a lot of nice places, and took me shopping. He even paid for lunch, and it looked expensive. I kept asking him if I wasn’t taking up all his time and he reassured me that there’s nothing he’d rather be doing. But I’m sure he was just being polite. He is such a gentleman!’

‘I’m sure he meant every word.’ Angela smiled a tight little smile. Suddenly, before I could cut in, she looked at her watch and gave a little yelp.

‘Sorry but I have to dash. I have an appointment with the milliner.’ She gathered her things in a flurry and said in parting to Beth, ‘I’m sure Berty will look after you. See you at dinner tomorrow!’

Though she was smiling, I could see that it was forced. Beth, not having my extensive experience of reading Angela’s expressions, waved a cheerful goodbye and mopped up the last bit of her pie. It appears that instead of mending the chasm between Angela and Tuppy, I may have widened it by several leagues.